


Eight Hours

by agentwashingtin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, dumb cuddling, for these dumb space nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentwashingtin/pseuds/agentwashingtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons groaned in frustration and shoved his pillow into his face. The back of his eyes throbbed in exhaustion, but he wasn’t even close to falling asleep. He’d been trying for nearly two hours now and nothing was working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Hours

**Author's Note:**

> decided to catch the tail end of rvb happy hour with some fluffy grimmons uwu

"Eight hours," Simmons muttered to himself. "A healthy adult needs eight hours of sleep a night. You can do that."

His body ached from the day's training. Felix had participated in this one, which meant more injuries for everyone. But, despite working hard all day, his body was stubbornly refusing to rest.

He gritted his teeth and rolled over, curling his arm under his pillow with a sigh. His foot shifted back and forth on the sheets in agitation, moving up and down and rubbing against his other leg. His nose itched and he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, throwing the covers off himself and scratching at it.

They'd been at the New Republic compound for a couple months now, and Simmons still wasn't entirely used to his bed. His sleeping accommodations hadn't always been the best; he had rotated between a small cot, an even smaller bed, and hard ground for the better part of his military experience. The thin mattress he had been given upon arrival was far better than anything he'd had before, but his body hadn't yet adjusted to it.

A spring popped beneath Simmons and he sighed. Even without the covers over him he was still hot. Sweat pooled at the back of his neck and made his hair stick to his forehead. Suddenly his old Red Army t-shirt and sweat pants seemed like too much, but he couldn't find the energy to take them off. The sticky heat of Chorus was inescapable, even at night.

He turned again and opened his eyes, automatically scanning the opposite side of the room and then sighing when he remembered that no one was there. He and Grif had shared a room for as long as he could remember. When they had become captains, however, they'd been given their own rooms. It was different, but Simmons hadn't complained. At least his room would finally be neat for once. He frowned, running his thumb over the sheets. Maybe it was too different.

 _What if I'm just not tired_ , he wondered, picking at straws as he twisted to stare at the ceiling.

He dismissed the thought with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. Nope, definitely tired. 

He stretched his arms over his head and then rotated his body a full circle until he ended up back on his back, staring again at the ceiling.

"This is bullshit," he mumbled, finally rolling out of the bed. Maybe a walk would clear his head.

The mattress creaked as he sat up and slipped into his boots, not bothering to lace them up.

Simmons crept out of his room and down the hall. He passed Caboose's door, which was open, and he could see a tuft of dark hair poking out from under Caboose's blanket. Tucker's door was closed, as was Grif's. Simmons paused for a moment at Grif's door, hand rising to knock, and then falling back to his side. He clenched his hand into a fist and continued out the door.

Two men on night duty saluted him enthusiastically and he nodded back at them. Any other time and he might have stopped to talk with them, but his exhausted body prevented further interaction as his feet carried him mindlessly to the opposite side of the building.

He mounted the ramp to the roof of the base and climbed it without thinking. After years of trekking to the top of Red Base in Blood Gulch when he couldn't sleep, it seemed only natural for him.

However, he wasn't expecting anyone else to be there.

"Grif?" he questioned in surprise.

Grif jumped, twisting around to glance at Simmons. His feet dangled off the edge of the base, unlaced boots and ratty t-shirt and sweats almost matching Simmons completely. "What are you doing up here?" Grif asked.

Simmons walked over and sat down next to Grif, letting his heels bounce against the walls of the base. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Couldn't sleep," Grif answered, turning to stare back out over the compound. "You too?"

"Yeah. Been trying for hours and nothing's working. Thought I'd make my way up here," Simmons explained. He leaned back on his hands and let out a long breath. It was nicer outside than in the stuffy air of the base, but it was just as hot.

"Huh. Just like old times then," Grif sighed.

Simmons nodded but didn't say anything. His eyes caught on a small group of rebels strolling from one building to another. He thought he saw Felix exiting Kimball's office at one point, but the merc was gone before Simmons could be sure.

The two of them sat in companionable silence. Simmons couldn't see the stars from where he was, but he liked to imagine that they were back at Red Base, watching the distant lights like they used to. Simmons enjoyed Grif's rare silence as they both suppressed yawns and rolled their shoulders, heavy eyelids drooping.

Not long after that, Grif slid away from the edge of the roof and stood, stretching and popping his back.

"Heading back?" Simmons asked.

Grif nodded. "Figure I'd try my luck again."

Simmons snorted. "Wish you the best," he said with half the snark he usually mustered.

Grif shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching the back of Simmons' head, before finally saying, "You could, uh, join me if you want?" The statement rose into a question on the last syllable.

Simmons jolted, spinning around and stuttering, "I- w-what?"

Grif rolled his eyes. "Relax. That's not what I meant. I just thought maybe some company would be better for the both of us."

Simmons chewed the inside of his lip and then finally nodded. "Okay, sure."

He rose to his feet and followed Grif down from the roof. They entered the base quietly and made their way toward Grif's quarters. Grif opened the door and then allowed Simmons inside before letting the door fall shut behind them. The dark invaded Simmons' senses, but he could still vaguely make out Grif's shape as he shed his shirt and boots and fell onto the bed.

Simmons stood awkwardly at the door until Grif sighed and said, "Get over here."

Simmons stumbled towards the bed and sat down at the edge of the mattress. He kicked off his boots and then froze, unsure of what to do next. He wasn't exactly clear on the code of what or what not to do when sleeping with someone that could be considered your best friend.

He could almost feel Grif roll his eyes.

"For fuck's sake, c'mere," Grif huffed.

He grabbed Simmons' shoulder and pulled him down onto the bed. Simmons adjusted his body so that he was stiffly lying on his back. Grif grunted in acknowledgement and then turned so that he was facing the wall. Simmons stared up at the ceiling, attempting to relax once again.

After a few minutes of the both of them shuffling around, Grif finally turned back over and muttered, "This isn't working."

"No shit," Simmons replied.

Grif huffed out an annoyed laugh and said, "All right, smart ass, get over here."

Simmons squeaked in surprise as Grif grabbed his waist and flipped him so that his face was pressed into Grif's chest. Grif then curled his arm loosely around Simmons' waist and waited.

Simmons blinked and let out the breath he'd been holding. He tentatively put his arm around Grif's waist and then carefully tangled their legs together. He shuffled closer and shifted so that the top of his head was snug under Grif's chin and his face was tucked into Grif's neck.

Grif sighed and tightened his grip on Simmons' waist. "Better?"

Simmons nodded. "Better."

"All right, then," Grif said. Simmons' breath hitched as Grif placed a kiss on the top of his head and then promptly fell asleep.

He listened to Grif's breathing even out and eventually smiled at the familiar sound and the way their chests moved in sync. Maybe that was what he was missing.

Simmons finally fell asleep thinking,  _This is easily the best way to get eight hours, ever._


End file.
